hey ladies

[Chemdog]

SO he's clearly looking for anyone from his old herd, BUT any little thing is welcome to come along and poke him if you so desire ;D

OMG @[Vessel] i saw that you were around and i couldn't fricking resist
#please xDDDDD

tagging the girls just in case anyone is still aboot(:
@[Helleborn] @[Sreva] @[Sabé]

Upon his return he knows exactly where to start his lurking again. Nothing has been decided for the future as of yet – all but one thing, anyway. The women of his history have been calling to him in his sleep in recent nights. “Chem..” They whisper to him, licking at his ears and caressing his sweaty, twitchy skin. His tail flashes at his hocks as he lets the night-dreams turn to day-dreams. “Find us.” their voices meld and string him along, their hot sweet breath tickling his ears until he wakes, blinking and slightly aroused of course. His lips trace the edges of his dark lips, a subconscious move as his teal eyes hunt the landscape for anyone, or anything familiar to him.

Beqanna’s soil is always morphing, transcending we’ll say. Chemdog bothers not to notice anything new about the lands just now, there will be time for that later. Only one decision has been made since his return – find them. The only thing he notices is their absence, for now; the coldness touching his shoulder instead of the honey warmth of one them pressing against him, or better yet, all of them against him, around him, under him. 

The morning light touches the edges of his darkened, speckled body as he finds a hilltop. His ascent is graceful, his weight is lower and his muscles leaner, but otherwise he looks fairly well for being on his own, elsewhere. Summertime brings a gentle, fragrant breeze while the mists settle across the wavy grasses spread over bumps and boulders scattered about the meadow. Most areas are eaten down from constant grazing, but the hilly parts are mostly left, a collective effort, perhaps. He himself enjoys a few mouthfuls of oat-pods and luscious, fat clumps of untouched grasses before having a thorough look around. He gathers himself on the inside, sucking in a deep breath and bracing his ribcage for a long bellowing whinny. One, two, and he waits, nickering and slashing his long dready tail. He lets out a third and longer call, shrill to begin with and deep by its ending. 

Would any of them be around? Would they recognize the old siren call? He waits on the hill in the dawn’s rosy light, keeping his ears and eyes to whatever shadows dance into view or sticks snap in the distance. 

chemdog

astra inclinant, sed non obligant.